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Maybe a little bit longer.

I was going to die. I was certain of this now. I was going to die. I was certain of this now. As if the certainty of death isn’t for us all—but I felt as if it were going to come for me sooner than on

 
 
 
What's Wrong With You!

“What’s wrong with you” should inspire and delight you now. It should make you say, in a haughty tone back to its owner, nothing—I’m just perfect. Mother often asked me “what’s wrong with me,” as if

 
 
 
State of The Union

He (Trump) was fucking us all, and a lot of us seemed to understand it, but what was puzzling were the ones who seemed to like being fucked by this man. I do mean being fucked and with no lubrication

 
 
 

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